


What if I could promise more

by ThatsrightZoeyeyye



Series: NaNoWriMo 2019 (but i'm cheating a little bit) [7]
Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid, StarKid Productions RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, I love them so much, Marriage Proposal, lovey dovey cave wives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 20:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20627315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsrightZoeyeyye/pseuds/ThatsrightZoeyeyye
Summary: It was a Friday morning like any other, and she realized she wanted to marry her.5 times Zazzalil almost asked Jemilla to marry her, and one time she didn't have to.





	What if I could promise more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkid writes discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=starkid+writes+discord).

> Prompt: "5+1" by the starkid writes discord

1.

It was a Friday morning just like any other. The alarm would ring at 6:30, Zazzalil would stay in bed while Jemilla got up quietly, ate breakfast, took a shower. Around seven o'clock, she would get out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and wake up her girlfriend, who would step into the shower. Jemilla would get dressed, put on some make-up, do her hair, choose her jewelry, open all the curtains and make sure their cat had enough food and water.

When Zazzalil left the bathroom, she would find her breakfast already ready on the table: toasted baguette, with the butter nicely melted by the warmth of the bread. She would smile at her girlfriend, who sometimes hadn't finished her coffee. They would kiss, briefly, sweetly, mutter “I love you” softly, mechanically, but still genuinely. Then Jemilla would leave for work.

It was a Friday morning just like any other, but when Zazzalil walked into the kitchen and saw her girlfriend preparing her breakfast like every morning, she was suddenly hit by the domesticity of it all. They had been together for what felt like forever, had been living together for over a year, but Zazzalil realized she wanted more.

She already knew she wanted to be with Jemilla forever. She wanted to see her smile every morning when she entered the kitchen, wanted to feel the way her girlfriend's hand tugged at her hip lightly, pulling her closer slightly while they kissed.

It was a Friday morning like any other, and she realized she wanted to marry her.

She wanted it to be official, wanted a big fancy party with family and friends, wanted a paper to certify that they belonged to each other, wanted a ring to remember it all the time.

Zazzalil almost said it out loud, almost asked Jemilla to marry her. But she realized she should probably do it properly, plan a nice proposal to make Jemilla feel important. She was so important.

So she watched her smile, felt her hand on her hip while they kissed, murmured “I love you” when they pulled apart, and waved at her while she walked out the door with one last smile.

And she was left alone in their apartment, while the woman she wanted to marry made her way to work.

  
  


2.

It was a Monday, the one after the Friday unlike any other, when Zazzalil had decided she would ask Jemilla to marry her.

Zazzalil didn't dislike Mondays as much as she had during her school days, as unsettling as it still felt. On Mondays, she left work very early, and had time to buy the groceries and relax a little, waiting for Jemilla, who worked late on Mondays.

On this particular Monday afternoon, when Zazzalil left work, she headed downtown. She was going to buy a ring.

It proved to be a hard task, but she found one she knew Jemilla would love. It was very pretty, three types of gold braided into a delicate thin ring. She gripped the box tightly on the way home, terrified to lose it. It had been rather expensive.

She realized she would have to propose before Jemilla checked the bank records. She did that every month, to be sure no money had been spent mysteriously. It was smart, it was careful and preventive. It was Jemilla. It would also mean that she would notice an unusual and important amount of money that had left their bank account with no explanation.

Zazzalil bought the groceries, as usual, and decided to vacuum the place to clear her mind.

Jemilla opened the door and smiled when she saw Zazzalil, an excited smile that made her eyes shine. It hadn't faded as time went by, still as bright and happy as the first days. It made Zazzalil feel loved.

Jemilla kissed Zazzalil softly and threw herself on the couch.

“I'm exhausted!” she sighed. “Mondays are the worst.”

She did look tired. The shorter girl realized she was also on her period. Probably not in the mood for half-prepared grand romantic gestures.

Zazzalil hid the box somewhere she knew her girlfriend wouldn't find it, and lay on the couch with her.

Another time.

  
  


3.

They loved Sundays.

There was something about Saturday mornings that stressed Jemilla out. She always woke up early, sometimes earlier than on weekdays, and she did something to feel productive. It was often working, checking bank records, cooking, baking. If she didn't feel like she had done her best on Saturday mornings, she would feel like shit the entire week-end, no matter how hard she worked on Saturday afternoons and Sundays. Zazzalil had accepted it, and was grateful that Jemilla had given up on vacuuming at seven in the morning, which she did when she lived alone.

It also meant that Zazzalil woke up alone, Jemilla's side of the bed often already cold.

But on Sundays, Jemilla slept in, and they woke up together, most often with Zazzalil sprawled across the bed, Jemilla curled on top of her, wrapped in a tight blanket burrito. They loved Sundays.

On that Sunday, Zazzalil opened her eyes. Soft sunlight filled the room, just enough that it didn't hurt. Jemilla, who was previously laying on her chest, raised her head.

“You're awake” she whispered, smiling. Zazzalil smiled back, turning on her side so she faced her girlfriend. She was beautiful, her dark curls falling across her face, deep brown eyes shining with love.

The shorter girl stared into those eyes, warmth spreading through her body, just as it always did.

The ring was in a box under her bed. In a matter of seconds she could have it in her hands, could show the pretty piece of jewelry to her pretty girlfriend, and ask her to be her wife.

_Wife_.

She turned the word around in her brain, feeling it settle in her chest. She wanted Jemilla to be her wife. Wanted to say “my wife” when she mentioned her to people. Wanted to know she'd be with her until death do them part. Screw divorce rates, she didn't have to think about that. They were statistically lower for gay couples, right? She'd heard that somewhere.

This would be an amazing moment to propose, she thought. She felt her body tense with excitement, the last bits of hesitation slowly leaving her mind.

Jemilla suddenly got up and wrapped herself in a thick robe.

“Come on, get up! I'm starving!” she called out as she made her way to the kitchen.

And the moment was gone.

  
  


4.

Their anniversary was at the end of May. On May 30th, five years before, Zazzalil had gone to Jemilla, after a big, childish fight that had torn their group of friend apart, she had sat on the flour next to her and apologized. Jemilla had laid her head on the smaller girls shoulder and she had felt a tear touch her skin. They had stayed there for ages, and as the sun started to set, they had gone to McDonald's together. Zazzalil's idea. On their way home, Jemilla had kissed her friend. Later that night, she had added a heart emoji next to her girlfriend's name in her contacts.

There had been highs and lows, but they had stayed together. For five years.

As usual, they went to McDonald's. Not an ideal date, but it meant something to them. It didn't matter that they had grown to dislike the food there, their cookies were still good, and they had fun.

They walked home through a park. It was empty and quiet, perhaps too much so to feel safe, but they held onto each other's hand, the light wind curling around their ankles and throwing their hair in their faces.

Zazzalil's other hand was clutched around a tiny box in her jacket's pocket. She had thought about proposing on their anniversary. It would be a nice way to celebrate.

But as the occasions flew by, she had realized that Jemilla might not say yes. It had been on her mind the whole time, ever since she had bought the ring the week before, but she hadn't really considered that it was a realistic outcome.

There were many reasons why Jemilla wouldn't want to marry her.

The chances that she would want to leave her were low. They had talked about spending their lives together, that was already the plan. But marriage had never been mentioned. Maybe Jemilla wasn't ready to get married, maybe she never would be. Maybe she didn't like the idea of marriage, for whatever reason.

And that would be okay. Zazzalil wanted Jemilla to be her wife, but only if Jemilla it too.

So she kept on walking, breathing deeply so her girlfriend wouldn't feel how tense she was.

They walked home, and Zazzalil said nothing. Soon, Jemilla was curled up on the smaller woman's chest, asleep.

Zazzalil still hadn't proposed.

  
  


5.

The first week of June, that year, was rather cold. Not that Zazzalil realized, she rarely felt cold. It drove Jemilla crazy, seeing her girlfriend in a t-shirt and shorts while she was freezing in jeans and a thick jacket. According to Jemilla, it was a cold June. It would be warm for a January, she had tried to explain to Zazzalil, but you weren't supposed to need jackets it June.

Thus, their city's Pride parade took place on a cloudy, too-cold-for-June Saturday. They had painted their cheeks deep blue, purple and pink, and Jemilla's smile was huge. They loved Pride parades. They had been going together every year since high-school, sometimes joined by some of their friends. They remembered fondly the memories of the first time they had celebrated Pride as a couple.

Every year they went and spent the day amongst their people, feeling like they _belonged_. It was the most amazing feeling.

That year, it was cloudy and cold, but nobody really cared. Seas of leather and denim jackets could be seen, sometimes scarves the color or pride flags.

The Pride colors were everywhere. Painted on people's bodies, pins, clothes, shoes. And flags, flying high in the air, or resting on people's shoulders and floating behind them. They felt like superheroes.

Zazzalil had brought her Nerf gun, because she liked the superhero theme. She had painted it years ago, when she was a closeted teenager decorating everything she owned with the bisexual colors, hoping her parents would notice and ask her about it. That way, she wouldn't have to take the initiative to come out. She raised the plastic gun in the air every year, ready to protest and fight for her rights.

“No cops at Pride, just Zazzalil and her Nerf gun” Jemilla chuckled.

Zazzalil smiled wide, and placed a kiss on her girlfriend's cheek.

Maybe one day she could call her her wife. The ring was in her the pocket of her jacket. She had brought her favorite leather jacket, the old one she had found in a thrift store in high school, before she had come out to her parents. The worn-out fabric felt like home.

She brushed her thumb along the angle of the small box. She could propose now. It would be spectacular, a proposal at Pride. It always made everyone happy. She could do that!

She stopped her train of thoughts, realizing Jemilla wouldn't want that. She wouldn't want a proposal in front of so many people, wouldn't want to share that moment. She wouldn't want to feel watched, judged, and certainly would hate being filmed or photographed.

So she pushed the box deeper in her pocket and marched, her hand finding Jemilla's.

Soon, she would do it. Just not right then.

  
  


+1

By mid-June the weather was warmer. Everyone was outside, enjoying the sun while it didn't hit too hard.

It was Sunday, the sun already high in the sky, and they were in their kitchen, in underwear. Zazzalil was wearing one of Jemilla's sweatshirt, which was too large for her and covered half of her thighs. Jemilla wore one of Zazzalil's overlarge t-shirts. A tourist t-shirt she had bought the wrong size when she was 12 and that was still too big.

Zazzalil finished her coffee and put her mug in the sink, watching as her girlfriend finished her glass of orange juice.

Jemilla was nervous, Zazzalil could see. No one else would probably be able to notice, but she recognized the way she brushed the heel of her foot along her other leg, to relieve the tension, pretending she was okay.

Zazzalil forced their eyes to meet, raised her eyebrows questioningly. Jemilla put her glass in the sink, slowly, and turned to face the shorter woman.

“There's something I've been meaning to ask you for a while” she murmured.

Zazzalil tilted her head, waiting.

“You know I love you,” Jemilla continued, “very much.”

Zazzalil nodded and smiled, joy shining in her eyes, like every time she heard those words.

“You know you're my favorite person in the whole world, no matter how cheesy it sounds. We might have our differences, because you're reckless, and irresponsible, and invincible. But I never want to leave you.”

Zazzalil's smiled widened, as if to say “me neither”. Jemilla grabbed something in the tuperware closet, and turned back to her girlfriend. Zazzalil waited, a small tinge of hope in the back of her mind. The taller woman got down on one knee and opened a small box in her hands.

Zazzalil gasped, looking in Jemilla's eyes. She had not been expecting this. She barely heard her girlfriend's proposal, and ran to their bedroom, throwing herself on the ground next to their bed, reaching for the ring.

She ran back towards the kitchen. Jemilla was standing in the living room. Confusion, fear, surprise, and anxiety showing on her face. The box was still open in her hand. She opened her mouth, trying to find words to express her puzzlement.

Zazzalil threw herself down on one knee, feeling pain shoot up her leg.

“Jemilla,” she said, breathless, “I love you. I've been searching for a cool speech for so long, I'm sorry I don't have anything nice and sweet to say. Will you marry me?”

Jemilla stood there, mouth agape, as she started to understand what had been happening.

“I asked you first” she finally breathed out.

“Well, then I'll answer first,” Zazzalil said, “Yes, I will marry you, if you will marry me.”

Jemilla let out a laugh, a bubbly mix of happiness and relief.

“Yes, of course, I'll marry you.”

She barely had time to answer before Zazzalil was standing up and kissing her.

Coffee and orange juice certainly made an unpleasant mix, and they could feel tears sliding down each other's cheeks. They smiled through the kiss, and when they pulled apart Zazzalil jumped excitedly. She slid the ring on her fiancé's finger, and giggled happily when Jemilla slid a ring on hers. It was beautiful. Laughter escaped her lips and they kissed again. Zazzalil could feel the cold metal of the ring on her neck, where Jemilla put her hand.

_Fiancé_, she thought. That was a nice word.

**Author's Note:**

> The Nerf gun came back. It's my mark now.  
Also, Jemilla's weird Saturday productivity problem is a problem I have. Does anyone else have it or am I just that weird?  
Anywayyy comment for my gals, the bi cave wives, the best couple in the world?


End file.
